Sunday, February 26, 2006
Balancing Act
Sasha Cohen and Irina Slutskaya make it look so effortlessly easy as they gracefully glide over the ice, sublimely spinning, jumping, and spiraling, and all the while smiling. Of course I know it is much more difficult than they make it look. And I know that they have spent years and years practicing their sport and art. But watching them inspired me to try ice skating again at a church activity, for only the fourth or fifth time in my life.
I’m a reasonably athletic person, and recently I’ve been working on my balance in a new aerobic class called BOSU. There’s no doubt my balance is better than before I started BOSU, so I was sure this was excellent “land” preparation for ice-skating. I felt confident I could erase the unpleasant memories of my past unsuccessful ice-skating attempts.
At the rink, the manager asked me if I wanted figure-skating skates, or “these”—as he pulled out some big blue boots that looked a lot like roller blades. I didn’t know they were hockey skates, and I thought figure-skating skates were probably for “advanced” skaters, so I took the burly blues. I bravely strapped them on and clomped out to the ice.
With the first wobbly stroke on the slick surface, I instinctively knew what to do--I lunged toward the wall and grabbed on. I tentatively slipped and slid around the rink, trying to nonchalantly pass off my wall-hugging as just carefree slow skating, and leisurely loitering. Visions of emulating Olympic skaters promptly vanished. My BOSU balancing—no help here. My self-assessed athleticism—out the door.
Humiliatingly, I was the only adult clutching on to the side along with a few little kids. And those poor kids—if they weren’t fast enough to get out of my way, or small enough for me to straddle, we collided, because I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t let go of the wall to slip or slide around them. My friend Gail, (who incidentally, is also taking the BOSU class, and thinks it is harder than ice-skating--she's wrong in my opinion) skated up to me with confident ease and agility. She tried to coax me away from the wall. I courageously let go, and lurched forward a few feet…and fell. I didn’t seem to be injured, but how to get back up on my feet became an embarrassing new dilemma. I scooted to the side, pulled myself up, and resumed my one-handed death grip on the wall. "Maybe you'd do better with figure-skating skates," she kindly suggested. "I think it's harder in those hockey skates."
I had a glimmer of hope that the figure-skating skates might be the solution. But even with new skates, there was little improvement. After about two times around the rink a young girl sized me up, and asked, “How many times have you biffed it?!” I was demoralized, but it wasn’t over yet. Gail was still sympathetically by my side, and suddenly another friend, Brad, appeared on my right. “Let’s get her skating,” he commanded Gail. They took my hands, one on each side, and basically towed me around the rink, at their own peril, I add, because I came precariously close to pulling us all down several times. Brad was perplexed, because he too, had thought I was more athletically inclined. I thanked them both for their efforts, but discarded their pretense that “in no time” I’d be skimming the ice. I glommed back onto the wall and headed for the exit.
My ice-skating performance would probably garner me a score of about 2 points, given only by a sympathetic judge for my execution of a speedy transition off the ice and back to the skate return counter. I’m going back to my BOSU, on which two-footed jump landings are allowed. In the long run, since I know I’ll never skate in a “Long Program”, that’s where I belong.
I’m a reasonably athletic person, and recently I’ve been working on my balance in a new aerobic class called BOSU. There’s no doubt my balance is better than before I started BOSU, so I was sure this was excellent “land” preparation for ice-skating. I felt confident I could erase the unpleasant memories of my past unsuccessful ice-skating attempts.
At the rink, the manager asked me if I wanted figure-skating skates, or “these”—as he pulled out some big blue boots that looked a lot like roller blades. I didn’t know they were hockey skates, and I thought figure-skating skates were probably for “advanced” skaters, so I took the burly blues. I bravely strapped them on and clomped out to the ice.
With the first wobbly stroke on the slick surface, I instinctively knew what to do--I lunged toward the wall and grabbed on. I tentatively slipped and slid around the rink, trying to nonchalantly pass off my wall-hugging as just carefree slow skating, and leisurely loitering. Visions of emulating Olympic skaters promptly vanished. My BOSU balancing—no help here. My self-assessed athleticism—out the door.
Humiliatingly, I was the only adult clutching on to the side along with a few little kids. And those poor kids—if they weren’t fast enough to get out of my way, or small enough for me to straddle, we collided, because I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t let go of the wall to slip or slide around them. My friend Gail, (who incidentally, is also taking the BOSU class, and thinks it is harder than ice-skating--she's wrong in my opinion) skated up to me with confident ease and agility. She tried to coax me away from the wall. I courageously let go, and lurched forward a few feet…and fell. I didn’t seem to be injured, but how to get back up on my feet became an embarrassing new dilemma. I scooted to the side, pulled myself up, and resumed my one-handed death grip on the wall. "Maybe you'd do better with figure-skating skates," she kindly suggested. "I think it's harder in those hockey skates."
I had a glimmer of hope that the figure-skating skates might be the solution. But even with new skates, there was little improvement. After about two times around the rink a young girl sized me up, and asked, “How many times have you biffed it?!” I was demoralized, but it wasn’t over yet. Gail was still sympathetically by my side, and suddenly another friend, Brad, appeared on my right. “Let’s get her skating,” he commanded Gail. They took my hands, one on each side, and basically towed me around the rink, at their own peril, I add, because I came precariously close to pulling us all down several times. Brad was perplexed, because he too, had thought I was more athletically inclined. I thanked them both for their efforts, but discarded their pretense that “in no time” I’d be skimming the ice. I glommed back onto the wall and headed for the exit.
My ice-skating performance would probably garner me a score of about 2 points, given only by a sympathetic judge for my execution of a speedy transition off the ice and back to the skate return counter. I’m going back to my BOSU, on which two-footed jump landings are allowed. In the long run, since I know I’ll never skate in a “Long Program”, that’s where I belong.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Out of Gas
I ran out of gas in my car on the interstate yesterday. From my obviously erroneous calculations, I should have been able to go at least 25 miles or so more. After all, on previous tanks of gas I have been able to travel many more miles. I was chagrined, but serendipity smiled on me. The mishap occurred right at a highway exit, and the car coasted to a stop about halfway to the end of the exit. Even more fortuitous, a kindly cowboy in his blue Ford truck almost immediately offered assistance, and within fifteen minutes I was on my way with two gallons of gas sloshing in my tank.
It may seem a rather gauche analogy, but some days not only my car, but I, am out of gas. In my mind I think I should be able to work harder, longer, and accomplish more. After all, there have been other days when I have done so quite successfully. Sometimes on the lackluster energy days, I receive aid in the form of a Good Samaritan, a lucky break, or a deadline reprieve that saves me from failure. And on other days, I do not have that kind of luck, and must find it within myself to finish the job. Prayer, positive self-talk, rewards, and a frank assessment of the consequences if I do not succeed, are my rallying and motivating techniques. They work well for me, and I am usually able to attain my goals. At the end of those days I feel exhausted, but supremely satisfied. There is something pleasingly powerful about being able to work beyond what you felt were your limits. I acknowledge that in those circumstances I receive help: "godsends", if you will, a much more reliable source of power than luck.
On the road when I ran out of gas, the nearby exit and the benevolent stranger were lucky breaks. Capricious good fortune is probably the exception rather than the rule in the long run, so I am grateful for godsends, and for the ability to fuel myself during difficult circumstances.
It may seem a rather gauche analogy, but some days not only my car, but I, am out of gas. In my mind I think I should be able to work harder, longer, and accomplish more. After all, there have been other days when I have done so quite successfully. Sometimes on the lackluster energy days, I receive aid in the form of a Good Samaritan, a lucky break, or a deadline reprieve that saves me from failure. And on other days, I do not have that kind of luck, and must find it within myself to finish the job. Prayer, positive self-talk, rewards, and a frank assessment of the consequences if I do not succeed, are my rallying and motivating techniques. They work well for me, and I am usually able to attain my goals. At the end of those days I feel exhausted, but supremely satisfied. There is something pleasingly powerful about being able to work beyond what you felt were your limits. I acknowledge that in those circumstances I receive help: "godsends", if you will, a much more reliable source of power than luck.
On the road when I ran out of gas, the nearby exit and the benevolent stranger were lucky breaks. Capricious good fortune is probably the exception rather than the rule in the long run, so I am grateful for godsends, and for the ability to fuel myself during difficult circumstances.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Why In the Long Run
I am a distance runner. I have run a marathon a year for the last six years, and in fact, one year I even ran two marathons, one of which was The Boston Marathon (forgive me for name-dropping, but I thought it was a grueling race and I am proud of finishing it.)
I follow a schedule quite religiously when preparing for a race. All distance runners know the necessity of including weekly "long runs" in their training programs, which gradually increase in distance before tapering off as the race day approaches. These runs sometimes take me up to three and a half hours to complete. That's a lot of time for cogitation, contemplation, introspection, and, well, sometimes just plain mind-wandering.
During my long runs, I've deliberated important choices, assessed my strengths and weaknesses, pondered spiritual questions, focused on relationships involving family members, friends, and acquaintances, mulled over events of the last few days, arranged complicated schedules, brainstormed ideas for work, church, and home, formulated political views, and daydreamed a good deal.
I see this blog as a natural extension of my meditative long runs. Here I will write some of my ruminations. It is during my long runs that I do some of my best thinking and problem-solving, and I hope for the same thing to occur here In the Long Run.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Personal despair on public display
Michelle Kwan has experienced both public idolization as well as public humiliation during her skating career. In the last ten years, reporters and sports analysts have disected her athleticism, her psyche, and her character. Today her personal despair is on display for further inspection.
Everyone has moments of disappointment, heartache, even tragedy. And everyone deals with these trying times differently. Some prefer isolation, some, a lone shoulder to cry on, and some choose to totally ignore the bad times. Kwan doesn not have the choice of any of these private options. How difficult it must be to personally work through the pain and sadness of a loss like hers when it seems the whole world is evaluating and examining your life, even if it might seem to be in a positive light.
Of course the public scrutiny comes with the territory of being a professional athlete. Going for the gold also means tolerating the tarnish. Still, today I felt sorry for Kwan because her healing can never be done in solitude. Even after today's headlines fade, the publicity of the past will affect how she makes sense of, and copes with the dissolution of her dream. And in the long run, it may make a difference in how she is able to deal with her personal tragedy.
Everyone has moments of disappointment, heartache, even tragedy. And everyone deals with these trying times differently. Some prefer isolation, some, a lone shoulder to cry on, and some choose to totally ignore the bad times. Kwan doesn not have the choice of any of these private options. How difficult it must be to personally work through the pain and sadness of a loss like hers when it seems the whole world is evaluating and examining your life, even if it might seem to be in a positive light.
Of course the public scrutiny comes with the territory of being a professional athlete. Going for the gold also means tolerating the tarnish. Still, today I felt sorry for Kwan because her healing can never be done in solitude. Even after today's headlines fade, the publicity of the past will affect how she makes sense of, and copes with the dissolution of her dream. And in the long run, it may make a difference in how she is able to deal with her personal tragedy.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Genesis
Several months ago a friend suggested I start a blog. I summarily dismissed the idea, thinking I didn't have the time (or patience) to figure out how to get one up and running. Tonight on a whim I decided to experiment. So this is my first attempt at blogging, and I'm sure my initial entries may be very rudimentary. But in the long run, I guess that doesn't matter.
